


A Lover's Haunting

by teacup-occamy (tinyshoopuf)



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Mystery, Romance, i don't know how to use these, pure self-indulgence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-06 14:04:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11602161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyshoopuf/pseuds/teacup-occamy
Summary: On the street below, a figure lurked on the edges of the lamplight. This was particularly hard to do, seeing as the street was in a decent neighborhood and was, as such, very well lit. The man, however, had spent a good deal of his time learning the art of not sticking out and had applied it in good practice for many years. With a certain pull of his hood and a practiced hunched stillness, he could blend into the shadows, no matter how sparse they were. Do not look at me, his posture said. I’m not important.Actually, he was very important, but the evening strollers out for a bit of Friday night fun didn’t need to know that.





	1. The Fool

**Author's Note:**

> This is a purely self-indulgent story and at this time is mostly written.

“Exquisite,” Diana breathed, fingers tracing the air just above the carvings set into a pottery fragment. The artifact was nestled protectively in its bed of cloth wrappings on a table in the vaults of the Louvre, where she had all the tools necessary to preserve and study it. And study it she did.

Several pieces had been carefully extracted during a dig on a small island in the Mediterranean where the previous inhabitants had all vanished some three thousand years prior, give or take. Included in the discovery was this bit of pottery (the whole vase having been broken apart by aggressive tectonic movements) and three other matching vases (that had, thankfully, escaped such a degrading fate).

The mask over her nose and mouth made the air stale and she fought a sneeze as she inhaled. Everything in the room was controlled, so as not to harm any of the already fragile objects stored there, which meant hair nets, latex gloves, and face masks. Though she dared not handle any of the pieces, she longed to touch the fragment before her and feel the rough etchings.

“Will you be able to translate it?”

She glanced to her right in time to see a handsome young man closing the vault door. He was remarkable in his handsomeness, with a smile that charmed the married and wooed the single. For now, the smile was hidden behind a cloth mask similar to the one she wore and she silently thanked her ancestors for that small blessing. Always careful with her heart and relationships, she worried at the effect that smile had on her.

“Yes,” she said, forcing her attention back to the pottery. “It will take me some time to translate it in a way that preserves the original meanings, but I can tell you it’s something akin to a poem. The speaker is lamenting that, basically, the world is still turning even though their loved one is dead.”

“Intriguing! We’d thought it might be a funeral piece based on the fresco.”

The fresco in question was a faded and chipped image of a figure bowed in grief before what could be a sarcophagus and surrounded by the funeral paraphernalia favored in ancient Hellenistic cultures. Diana nodded, straightening from the rather uncomfortable bent position she had hitherto assumed.

“I should have the full translation done in time for the exhibition’s opening in two weeks.” She adjusted the mask, silently cursing the way it made her nose itch.

“About that, Monsieur Leroux was hoping we might have this piece ready for the gala next Monday. He wants to display some of the more prized artifacts from this dig.” He said, tugging nervously at his ear.

Diana smiled. That thousand watt grin of his might exude a confident charm, but he never failed to lose some of his nerve around her. She found it endearing.

“Then I would be happy to do as Monsieur Leroux wishes and have the translation ready for the gala.”

He nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. His long fingers fiddled uselessly with the cufflinks on his impeccably turned shirtsleeves, cheeks reddening slightly as he cleared his throat.

“I was wondering,” he said quietly, “if you were free – or, well, not _free_ , you won’t be free at the gala, seeing as how you’re our lead antiquities expert. But, I was thinking if, should you want some company, that you might consider an escort? Such as myself?”

She’d been wondering how long it would take him to ask and she was rather surprised he hadn’t done so sooner. The gala was less than a week away, after all. Diana’s eyes danced with amusement and she fought to control the giddy giggle that bubbled in her throat.

“Mathieu, are you asking me to be your date for the gala?”

He looked up at her hopefully. “If you would like to?”

One of the giggles slipped past her careful defenses and she was, for once, oblivious to the way the mask vibrated at the sound and tickled her nose. Her answering nod led the corners of his eyes to crinkle and she knew he was smiling that wonderful, intense smile, which had the not entirely unexpected effect of breaking her control and causing her to laugh outright.

*

By the time she was back home to her cozy garrett apartment, however, her whimsical mood had faded. The flourishes painted on her sturdy wooden door stared back at her as she stood lost in thought on the threshold, pondering her predicament. Was she ready to try this again? Would she be happy, only to have Mathieu panic and flee as she trusted him with more and more details of who she really was? It had been nearly fifteen years since her last foray into romance and she still felt a stab of pain whenever she thought about what happened.

For all her accelerated healing abilities, her heart remained as raw and torn as ever.

Shaking out of her reverie, Diana fumbled the keys into the lock and made her way into her sanctuary. It wasn’t as spacious nor as opulent as her mother’s quarters back home on Themyscira, but the warm cream wallpaper and various soft-lit lamps pressed against her like a thousand hugs, making her feel safe.

She placed her purse on the table by the door and started down the short hallway that led into a cozy living room just a few steps in. A plush carpet muffled the clack of her heels as she transitioned from the hard wood of the entryway to the cinnamon rugs she’d layered under her furniture. To her right sat a marble topped bar that separated the small kitchen from the rest of the room, a few stools pushed against the sloping side, out of the way. Windows lined the two walls that made up the far corner, giving her a lovely view of the Parisian skyline. Just to her left was the door that led to her small bedroom and bath.

With a sigh, she strode over to the couch and plopped down next to her large, fluffy white cat, Diomedes. He stretched, loudly chastised her for being gone all day, and proceeded to wash his hind leg.

“What do you think, Mede? Should I give Mathieu a chance? I know that, one way or another, my heart will break. Question is, is he worth it?”

Diomedes responded by washing his ears.

Diana sighed again and sunk into the embrace of the cushions, thoroughly miserable. She shoved her hands into the pockets of the coat she still wore and allowed her face to contort in a pout. Antiope would have rapped her on the head for the expression, but Antiope was not there to see.

She wondered suddenly what Steve would have thought of her pouting and she instinctively closed her hand around the watch in her pocket. Drawing it out, she contemplated the timepiece sadly. Next November would mark the hundredth year since his sacrifice and something about that milestone weighed heavily on her heart.

The hands on the clockface marched onward, unperturbed by her troubles. She’d taken good care of it, keeping the cogs and gears working smoothly and taking it to an old friend, who happened to be a master clockmaker, for repairs. Every Sunday she visited his shop for tea and a chat and, if need be, he would take a look at the watch. Many times she wondered if it was healthy to remain so attached, but she just couldn’t bear to part with it.

Sniffling slightly, she buckled the strap to her wrist, feeling comfort in the way it constricted. In a quiet corner of her brain where nobody else could see, she would imagine that it was his hand gently tugging her through the crowd on a dirty London street.

Wiping away the pressure building behind her eyes, she stood and headed for her closet with a mind to pick out her outfit for the gala.

*

On a balcony across the street, a pair of eyes watched the Princess of Themyscira like a hawk. 


	2. The Moon

Friday afternoon found Diana seated at her desk amidst several dictionaries, thesauruses, and sheets of scrap paper. Ink stained her fingers, marking the many hours she’d worked on this translation with a cheap ballpoint pen. A streak stretched across her cheek from where she’d forgotten and pulled her hair out of her face to collect in a messy bun.

“That’s how I know you’ve been hard at work.”

Diana looked up and smiled at the petite blonde expertly tottering her way on 4-inch heels thin enough to pierce the hearts of men. Lydia Fournier had been her assistant for the past five years and the two women had bonded over their love of antiquities and reminding their male colleagues just how formidable the fairer sex could be.

“And how do you know I’ve been hard at work?”

“Your hair,” Lydia said, gesturing with her chin since her arms were laden with three new dictionaries and a stack of documents. “Everyone here knows that when it’s pulled into a messy knot on top of your head you’re in the throws of your linguistic genius.” She set her burden carefully onto a relatively clear space on the desk and let out a relieved breath. “Hadn’t you noticed?”

“No, actually…. I was mostly thinking that I just wanted it out of the way so I could focus better.”

“Oh, well, don’t worry, you’re still the most beautiful woman in the world. Here, this order needs your signature.” Lydia handed her the appropriate document and waited for Diana to read it over and inscribe her name at the bottom. When she handed it back, the blonde tucked it neatly into her stack before bluntly stating, “So, you are going to the gala with Mathieu.”

Startled, Diana stared at her assistant. “How did you hear about that?”

“The entire Louvre knew about it by eight this morning.” Lydia said, waving her hand in dismissal. “That’s not important. What is important is what you are going to wear. Have you picked anything out yet?” Diana shook her head.

“I looked through my closet last night, but I was tired and didn’t get very far.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “So, no, I don’t have an outfit yet.”

“Perfect! Tomorrow, we’ll go shopping and find an exquisite little dress that will make everyone stare and lament how out of their league you are. Though, even a burlap sack would look divine on you.” She regarded Diana thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. “I will pick you up at 11, we’ll have lunch, and then hit the shops. You’ll need shoes, of course, and the dress. What are your thoughts on pretty underwear? It’s your choice if anyone sees them, of course, but nothing says confidence like silk and lace on your delicates.”

“Hmm, how about we find the dress, first, and then worry about the underwear?”

“Fair enough,” Lydia said, straightening her stack of papers. “Then I shall see you tomorrow. Wear something dazzling so the people on the street will see us and be jealous.” Diana laughed as the blonde settled her documents in her grasp (leaving the dictionaries) and sauntered out of the office.

An hour later, Diana followed suit, locking the door behind her and stifling a yawn as she made her way through the corridors and out into the chilly Paris night. The day had been long, but she felt satisfaction at the time well spent. She finally had a translation of the poem that preserved the original meaning as closely as she could get and she decided a reward was in order. Which, of course, meant ice cream.

A bell chimed above the door as she entered the little ice cream shop down the street from her apartment. The air smelled of sugar and cold and she inhaled deeply, smiling at the familiar scents. An elderly man behind the counter returned her smile.

“Hello, Diana, what would you like today? We have a new macadamia nut recipe that Claire has been working on.”

“Mm, tempting, but I think I would just like a scoop of your homemade vanilla, if you please, François? It’s been a long day.”

François nodded and set about preparing her treat. “Lots of arrangements for the new exhibition?”

“Yes, and for the gala on Monday. Monsieur Leroux wants –” she froze as the sudden, intense feeling of being watched washed over her. Slowly turning her head, she stared out the window, scanning a street full of passers-by. Lifting her gaze, she studied the windows of the building directly across the street, but found nothing.

“–ana? Hey, Diana?” She snapped back to her current location and turned to meet François very concerned eyes. “Are you okay? You’re looking rather pale.”

She glanced around at the interior of the shop, getting her bearings. “Y-yes,” she croaked. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Yes. Yes, I’m alright. I’m sorry, I spaced out for a second there.” She offered him a somewhat weak smile that he hesitantly returned. “How much do I owe you?”

Eating the ice cream at a table in the back of the shop helped to calm her down. She hadn’t felt threatened, per se, but the experience had left her wholly unsettled. As a warrior, she trusted her instincts enough to not entirely dismiss it, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. Until she determined the level of danger, she resolved to be more careful, lest she be caught unawares and unable to draw a threat away from innocents.

With those thoughts to accompany her, she finished her treat and made her way back home, only to find further fuel for her ruminations.

There were footprints in front of her door. She’d made a study of footprints, having spent the 1940s and 1950s as a field anthropologist, and these told her the person responsible was of a decent height and weight and most probably male.

Thankfully, her locks showed no sign of tampering and the door was intact. For all she knew the footprints were those of a mail carrier or travelling salesman, but earlier events were at the forefront of her mind and she decided to proceed with caution. No sense in having to explain to Antiope why she was in the afterlife.

Diana’s keys slid the bolt from its cradle and she debated momentarily between slowly opening the door (just in case someone was inside) and throwing open the door (just in case someone was inside and she could surprise them). Ultimately, she decided on the latter, in no small part because the hinges on her door creaked.

To her relief, the only one startled by her sudden entrance was Diomedes, who took off into the kitchen to presumably hide behind the fridge.

Shaking her head, Diana crossed the threshold with a mind to do a sweep of the apartment, just in case. When her search bore nothing, she finally relaxed enough to set about preparing a dinner for herself and maybe something to tempt the cat out from behind the fridge. He had to come out at some point.

On a whim, before turning in for the night, she drew the curtains around her living room windows, coughing a bit as the action shook loose dust she somehow always missed when cleaning.

*

On the street below, a figure lurked on the edges of the lamplight. This was particularly hard to do, seeing as the street was in a decent neighborhood and was, as such, very well lit. The man, however, had spent a good deal of his time learning the art of not sticking out and had applied it in good practice for many years. With a certain pull of his hood and a practiced hunched stillness, he could blend into the shadows, no matter how sparse they were. Do not look at me, his posture said. I’m not important.

Actually, he was very important, but the evening strollers out for a bit of Friday night fun didn’t need to know that. And so long as they took no notice of him, he paid them little attention in return. His purpose for loitering suspiciously on the well-lit street of a well-to-do neighborhood was to observe Diana of Themyscira, now known as Diana Prince, not worry about what strangers in the night thought of him. As to why he was observing her, he couldn’t say.

Well, he could say, if compelled by the lasso of truth, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at a multi-chaptered fic, so there are issues, but I'm still pretty proud of myself. Also the longest thing I've written to date.


End file.
